


there will be no tenderness

by hopefulundertone



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulundertone/pseuds/hopefulundertone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has had enough of carrying his own burdens. A Doctor-centric, second person ramble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there will be no tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> It's written in second person, as I've said, in about fifteen minutes and I'm posting it without even looking at it again, let alone beta.

There is no tenderness. There never is, and although you'll never admit it, you like it that way. He knows that, so you don't have to, but he makes you say it anyway, revelling in his power over you. It makes you ashamed sometimes, other times, times when your back is arched and you are calling his name desperately, you could care less.

He bends to kiss you, bruising and rough, hand entangled in your unruly sticky-up hair, so much the better for grabbing and pulling. Your eyes water with the pain, but your body betrays you. You're still enjoying it. With your arms shackled above your head and your pale flesh laid out for him like a feast, you haven't a semblance of control, and you, you relinquish it like a burden. He pauses, for so long you almost cry out in need, then away he goes, brutal to parts of you and leaving marks that will linger for days, almost too soft to others, mouthing and licking, and you want to beg for his teeth on you, but you're trying to maintain a facsimile of dignity, and so refrain.

The moment that thought enters your head, he looks up at you and scoffs; what is yours is also his, and that includes your entire mind. You regret it immediately, but he's taken it as a challenge, and within moments has you writhing and making shamelessly needy sounds, but he isn't touching you and you need him, you _need_ him, and finally he meets your fevered gaze and tells you all you need to do is ask. Your mouth opens like a goldfish, but somehow you manage to stop the words from spilling out. His gaze hardens to flinty steel, and you swallow, sure he is going to take you then and there and then you won't have to, but he merely carries on, driving you insane with want, and every time a keening noise fills the back of your throat and your muscles tense, he stops you, and reminds you that all you need to do is ask.

You ask. You beg. You plead in a rasp, and with a satisfied grin on his face he takes you roughly, so that the headboard cracks and the box spring gives up and feathers flutter from the rips in the duvet you have made with your fingernails, curled tightly into the cloth. You scream as pain and pleasure swirl together and he bites you, so you know there will be punishment, but right now you can't particularly think straight so you just concentrate on dragging in ragged breaths and not giving in until he says so, and soon you feel him hot and wet inside you and you beg again. His voice, although still breathless, is silky smooth when he allows you to, and your world goes red and for a moment your mind brings back memories of silver leaves and burnt orange skies and you scream one word.

"Master!"

You come back down to earth with a gasp, and he is unlocking your hands, rubbing your raw wrists, soothing the redness with his tongue, he licks the blood off the cuts you've acquired, contrasting the red hotness of your body with his cool mouth, and you curl into him gratefully. He smooths down your sweat-soaked hair, and strokes your spine gently as your tears fall, realisation and shame like cause and effect, but you give it all to him, you give yourself to him because you are too tired to carry your head high anymore, and he takes it all and holds you, not with strength, but loosely, so you can slip out and deal with the shame yourself as you've always done, but because you are too tired and you've done it too many times, you loll your head back onto his chest and stay. Obstinate, stubborn resistance against the voices in your head and they recede. Because right here, right now in this point of time, space and the universe you're his and he's yours and it feels right, like the last puzzle piece clicking into place and you're no longer empty, so you say it again, because that feels right too.

"Master."

**  
  
**


End file.
